


A sliver crack of light is all you need to see

by MrBalkanophile



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBalkanophile/pseuds/MrBalkanophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Scratches on his knee and a bruise on the hip, the scent of grass under his face, a trace of sweat from the weight on his back.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A sliver crack of light is all you need to see

**Author's Note:**

  * For [victor_reno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victor_reno/gifts).



Jan had lots of expectations, most of them conflicting with one another, but he never thought he would have been half-naked around forty seconds after they closed Moussa's home door behind them. "At my place" could mean anything when he first heard it, whispered against the skin of his own cheek, and Jan wasn't sure if he just dreamt Moussa's tongue licking his ear while murmuring to him, or Moussa's hand stroking the back of his leg when he departed. Jan wasn't sure of anything but him, after all: he has wondered about this moment since he was... um, probably since he was twenty, because he had met Moussa some time before, sure, but they played one against the other and Moussa had even played hard on him - scratches on his knee and a bruise on the hip, the scent of grass under his face, a trace of sweat from the weight on his back.

Jan was expecting Moussa to treat him roughly, he almost wanted it, in a way, but he was wrong, and he isn't even exactly disappointed: Moussa's hugging him all the time, and his waist rubs against Jan quite slowly, letting them both feel the other one's arousal, hot against the fabric of their briefs. Jan puts his arms around Moussa as well and tries to say, short-breathed, something he can't even remember anymore after a few seconds, and Moussa doesn't ask him to say it again, anyway. He just drags him to the bed, prone, and starts licking and biting his neck.

Jan can feel Moussa's tongue tracing the vertebrae along the back and damn, it's almost painful not getting the relief he needs - he thinks he needs. Jan quite figures how this relief should come, and he has been frightened even in his own dreams. (He tried once, spreading his legs in the darkness of his room, and pushing the tip of his index against his hole, and he breathed out, and he pushed the finger further and-- ouch. He never tried again. And Moussa's quite, uh, bigger than an index of his.) But he isn't frightened now, and Moussa's kisses and licks are sweet and give him little shivers through his spine, so he just waits for this engaging torture to end. Jan holds his breath when Moussa strips him of his briefs, and then starts whimpering and begging when his tongue traces his hole, because it's far better than his own wet finger, than chocolate, maybe even than winning a cup. His special World Cup dragging him in paradise. Jan moans, asks for more, crumples the sheets under his feverish body. Moussa's thumb is coarse against his skin, it teases him with promises fulfilled by a second finger, and Jan's bewildered by how much good he can feel thanks to such a little pressure. He's not frightened at all when Moussa slides his cock inside him, one inch at a time, and even if he can't hide that his moans are part-painful, part-ecstatic, he can reassure Moussa when he tries to pull back or slow his pace by just pushing harder against him. Jan likes it rough, after all.


End file.
